I make tiny hopeful promises to myself |
Still and humming and glaringly dull |
My real life, burst into the proper colors |
The World I Made for Her |
I remember when it was me who made her skin flush |
You make yourself lonely even though you don't have to |
A Flirtation with Flirting |
transparent terminal emulator |
Sound between thunder and lightning |
I will marry only he who defeats me in battle |
Snowboards with vibrators |
The perfect woman |
brilliant simplicity of translucent roofs on delivery trucks, the |
All that was left of her was a damp handkerchief |
Dream Log: August 31, 2000 |
Turkey Hash |
Ride Forth |
Iris Murdoch is dead. Hold my hand. It's your turn now. |
a constant, low wind trembles through him, catching his words and sending them out into the world |
I don't even have the energy to kill myself |
you can lower your standards, or your pants, but you can't make them love you |
Our lives and these empty spaces aside |
Guided at night by factory lights |
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